


The Unbearable Effort of Balance

by Hopetohell



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Cuckolding, Mild Gore, POV Second Person, Smut, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Tell him if you want. But I don’t think you will. Don’t want to hurt him. Poor sweet little Hughie, fumbling weakly with your bra, breathing you in, trying to hold you like he could keep you.
Relationships: Hughie Campbell/Starlight | Annie January, The Homelander | John/Starlight | Annie January
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	The Unbearable Effort of Balance

Tell him if you want. It doesn’t change anything about this, about the way your legs fall open at the touch of a glove, the way your ragged breaths shatter around - _what_ and _why_ and listen. Listen. 

_Tell him if you want. But I don’t think you will. Don’t want to hurt him. Poor sweet little Hughie, fumbling weakly with your bra, breathing you in, trying to hold you like he could keep you._

Can’t keep what he never really had. 

Because he can’t do this, can he,

_Sweetheart. He can’t overwhelm you with the kind of too much that’s really just right. He’d look stupid in the suit, skinny, awkward. He wouldn’t,_

he can’t do this. He can’t get you wet with sheer overwhelming masculine force, can’t make your head drop forward on his shoulder when you’re too far gone to hold it up. Maybe he could learn to please you with his hands since his dick is so goddamned _skinny,_ but then again. Maybe what you need is a little less _good boy_ and a little more _man._ And doesn’t that just burn you, how fucking shallow that is? You can tell yourself how much you just want a good man who loves you, but in the end what you really want in your heart of hearts, in that little wriggling black place deep down, is just to be really, 

truly, 

overwhelmingly _fucked,_ til you forget your own name 

_but not mine, sweetheart. I want to hear my name like broken glass in your mouth. I know. I know. You don’t want it, not really. But you need it. And hell, I’ll make it easy on you. Do this, or I’ll kill him, leave him a greasy little Hughie-shaped smear on the pavement. It'd solve so many problems, but you'd cry, wouldn't you, and that just won't do. If you cry it's going to be because of me, knowing that I've ruined you for him, for anyone but me. Before this is over, sweetheart, I'll see you crying, though, when you realize what a spot you're in. When you realize_

yeah, you really like it, and it's a problem. Homelander's an asshole, but he's _virile,_ capable and skilled because as selfishly as he fucks, he wants you to feel good, to know that he's ruined you completely with pleasure as well as shame. And yeah, he _wants_ you to go back to your boyfriend, to sweet innocent little Hughie, to feel him balls-deep inside you and know that no matter what he does, it'll never be as good as this. Sure, he can give you that little golden glow, but when's the last time he made you forget your own name? When's the last time he wore you out, really wrung you dry, till all you could do was sob and shake? Yeah,

_that's what I thought._

And you can't just leave Hughie, not when he's the most reasonable person you know, and isn't that a joke? That he should bind you to him by virtue of how fucking mundane he is, by his soft and skinny ordinary-boy self, his worn-out band tees that feel so nice on your skin. No leather gloves with him, no fumbling with flaps and hidden buttons. 

_Fumbling, sure. Say it if you want. I'll take it out of your hide. You should know that if you feel good, it's because I want you to feel that way. I could just as easily just take what I wanted and leave you sticky and sobbing, unsatisfied. But then that wouldn't be any fun._

Fun? 

Is it fun, for him? Or is it just another power play, something that’s become a reflex because he doesn’t know any other way to be? Maybe that’s it. He has strength, sure, and power, but control? Control is lacking. Not like it matters; he should know better, but it makes him so hard, doesn’t it, to see you under his heel. To see the way you try to hold yourself shut but end up with your legs over his shoulders anyway, moaning cheap and needy for him. 

_I could have anyone, and I chose you. Aren’t you special. Now show me how grateful you are. Come for me, sweetheart. Milk me dry._

And you do, because of course you do, because he pulls it from you whether you want it or not. It bursts all the bulbs in the lamps, and he smiles down at you amidst the shine of particulate glass. 

_That’s it, sweetheart. There’s my good girl._


End file.
